by Diana Palmer
"Circus?" she asked, curious.
"It was what we called a formation of fliers," he explained. "The name of the squad's lead pilot determined its name, Richthofen's Circus was headed by the Red Baron himself." I see.
"It was a madhouse. You can't imagine the complexity of trying to balance a wire-rigged flying machine in the air and rain bullets at an enemy at the same time. My outfit was a biplane, a Nieuport, and just as I leveled off on the enemy's tail, I was hit by gunfire from above. I went down with the engine in flames."
Lacy hadn't moved. She hoped she was still breathing. "You crashed in flames?"
"Not quite that. The planes were made of wood and wire and dope-covered fabric, so they burned quite easily. But I got lucky, because there was a flat plain close by. I was able to land the plane. But my foot was caught and I couldn't get out. And just after I was on the ground, it burst into flames." He glanced at Lacy's horrified face. "Turk had seen me go down. He landed almost simultaneously and ran toward me. I was on fire when he pulled me out of the plane." He shivered with the memory of the heat and agonizing pain. "He smothered the flames and sat with me until the medics came. I spent months in the hospital. At first they thought I might die, but I kept improving. Turk sat with me. Talked to me. Encouraged me. He pulled me back from the edge." He didn't look at her now. "When I was well enough, the doctors told me what had happened, what I could expect. After they left, I made a grab for my service revolver. Turk took it away from me."
Lacy let out her breath. "Oh, Cole," she said, horrified.
He laughed coldly, staring into the flames, wincing at the dancing heat. "My back and legs were pretty bad, even my stomach. I healed, but there are some terrible scars. That's not even the worst of it." He lifted the cigarette to his lips and took a long draw. "They said I might not be able to father a child."
She was out of her chair and on her knees in front of him even as he finished speaking, her arms sliding around him, her face against his chest. She held on tight, not even speaking.
His hands rested lightly on her hair as he tried to assimilate what her actions meant. Was it comfort or pity?
Even as he tried to decide, there was a perfunctory knock on the door and Ben flew into the room. He looked dusty and disheveled, and his eyes were wide with worry.
"Cole, I've got to talk to you!" he said urgently. "Sorry, Lacy. But this won't wait. Cole, please, now!"
Lacy got up, her face hidden, letting Cole rise. He glanced at her, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. He went out with Ben, closing the door behind them.
"Well, what is it?" Cole asked. He knew it couldn't be about Marion, because he hadn't told the boy yet.
"Faye called me," Ben muttered. "She tracked me down in San Antonio and swears she's pregnant and it's mine. My God, Cole. I'm engaged to be married! I haven't got time for this mess!"
"You had time to sleep with Faye and get her pregnant," Cole accused coldly. "You dishonored her. Shamed her. Ira came to see me today, talking wild."
"I never meant to let things go so far," Ben groaned. "I was drinking, and she was so willing, so sweet. I couldn't stop. I've stayed away since then. It's been over three months since I was with her. And I know it can't be mine—if she's even pregnant."
"How do you know?" Cole asked curtly.
"Because I wanted her, really bad, a few days later, and she said she couldn't because it was the wrong time of the month," Ben told him. "So it can't be mine."
Cole had worked with cattle breeding more than long enough to know about cycles, menstruation, and ovulation. He nodded. There were exceptions, of course, but it was unlikely that Faye would be pregnant if she was telling Ben the truth months ago.
"What am I going to do? I can't let Jessica find out about her," Ben wailed. "She might break the engagement, and then where would I be? Her father would probably fire me!"
"You aren't marrying the girl because of your job?" Cole asked warily.
"I'm marrying her because she'd good in bed, rich, and has all the right connections," Ben said shortly. "Why not? I'm tired of being poor!"
Cole was disgusted, and it showed. "Money won't buy you everything, and living off a woman is shoddy."
"You ought to know." Ben shot back, irritated by Cole's disapproval.
"What do you mean?" the older man demanded.
"You've been living off Lacy for years. Or didn't you know that all these modern conveniences are things she paid for?" Ben scoffed. "She even paid off the second mortgage on the ranch so it wouldn't be repossessed while you were in France. Things got hard; Lacy saved us."
"Why wasn't I told?" Cole asked, his face white.
"You didn't ask," Ben said uneasily. He didn't like the way his big brother looked. "Why isn't Mother still up?"
Cole had never felt so cruel in his life. Lacy had supported him, and he hadn't known. Damn Ben for making him feel like a fool!
"Mother has heart dropsy," he told Ben, putting the knife in without a scrap of conscience. "The doctor says she's dying."
Cole turned and left Ben standing there, his eyes bulging in a white face, while he went back into the bedroom and closed the door—and he wasn't sorry. Damn Ben! He wasn't sorry at all that he'd done it!
Lacy was sitting by the fire, her face drawn and quiet. She looked up expectantly. "Cole—" she began softly.
"You've been pouring money into the house and the ranch," he accused coldly. "Why keep it from me?"
Her face gave away her guilt. "Because I knew you'd be furious," she said simply. "I had it, the ranch needed it..."
"You'll get it back," he said shortly. "Every penny."
"Do we have to talk about that tonight?"
"No." He went to the wardrobe and pulled out his pajamas and robe. He turned back to her with cold eyes in a hard face. "I'm going to sleep in the guest room from now on. If you don't like it, go back to San Antonio. Go to hell for all I care."
Lacy couldn't believe what he was saying. She stood up. "Cole, please don't do this; don't be like this. Times were so hard here during the war. You were away... There were bills due, and threatened foreclosure... I had the money, and more. You couldn't have expected me to let you lose Spanish Flats!"
"I won't take money from a woman," he said, with furious pride.
"Cole, please listen!" she pleaded.
"Good night, Lacy." He went out, slamming the door behind him.
Lacy sank down into her chair, a dull throb at her temples. She might have guessed that his icy pride would defeat her once he found out about her financial support of his family. She'd hit him in his most vulnerable spot. He wouldn't forget or forgive. Now they were right back where they'd began, and if Cole's expression had been any indication, they were going to stay there for a long time. She'd wanted to tell him that she was sorry they couldn't have a child together, but that it didn't matter. His scars didn't matter. She loved him; she wanted to live with him, no matter what. But he was in no listening mood. She closed her eyes and leaned back in the rocker. Should she go back to San Antonio? She remembered all too well what it had been like just after she and Cole had married. He'd frozen her with every glance, every word.
She knew she couldn't bear that indifference and anger anymore. But how could she leave Marion?
She couldn't, she decided finally, she'd have to stick it out—at least until after they gave Ben his engagement party. She'd make decisions as she had to. Right now, she just wanted to go to bed. This had been one of the worst days of her life. First Marion, now Cole. Ben had told him, of course. Her eyes flashed. No matter what it took, little Bennett was going to get his ears burned tomorrow. She could have cheerfully taken a buggy whip to the spoiled little boy.
She didn't know that Ben was already being taken to task for his indiscretion. He'd gone to bed in his old room, and tears had filled his eyes when there was no one to see. He'd never imagined that his mother could die. Cole had no right to throw it at him like that. He hadn't meant to spill the beans
about Lacy's financial support. It was just that Cole's old-fashioned righteousness rubbed him raw sometimes. He was old enough to marry and live as he pleased, and Cole could like it or lump it.
He felt sick as he thought about losing his mother. Now Faye was even threatening his future, phoning him, crying about being pregnant. He'd have to sort her out before he left again, that was for sure. She couldn't be allowed to go around telling lies about him. Suddenly life was just too complex for words, he thought miserably!
IN CHICAGO, KATY HAD settled into a dismal routine of sorts, being Danny's wife in public and his own whipping boy in private. His mother complained and nagged all day long, and when Danny was home, he took over. Nothing Katy did was right. He didn't even want her in bed anymore, and they'd only been married a few weeks.
"You're not the girl I thought I was bringing home," he said, with faint contempt, one evening as they arrived at a local speakeasy where Danny was to have a business meeting with local gang lord Blake Wardell. "You don't smile, you don't bubble. You just sit and glower. Mama's disappointed."
"So am I," Katy said dully. "I should have stayed in Texas."
"You'll have your uses, baby doll," he said mysteriously. "Never let it be said that I wasted an opportunity." His eyes approved of the tasseled gown she was wearing; but then he looked at the feathered headband around her upswept dark hair. "You ought to cut that hair. You look odd."
Everyone else seemed to have the popular bob, but Katy didn't like it. She enjoyed long hair. If it defied convention, so much the better. Life with Danny was hell. Even pining over Turk back at Spanish Flats seemed better than this walking death. She was property—like one of Danny's cars—and she wondered now if he'd even cared about her in the beginning. If he had, Mama Marlone had certainly put paid to that. She did everything she could to turn Danny against Katy. He wouldn't have brought her here tonight if he hadn't wanted to put up a good front for a prospective business partner.
Blake Wardell was a big, dark man with eyes that were kind despite his reputation as one of the biggest gangsters in Chicago. He was a gambler by trade, and he ran casinos all over the country. Danny wanted to get in on the action.
Katy was drawn to the big man. Something about him reminded her of Turk. Perhaps it was his size, or the way he smiled, or the soft darkness of his eyes when he looked at her. Katy could look at him and remember, so well, that last day with Turk. She had no regrets at all about what had happened, not one. She knew, was almost certain, that she was pregnant. She knew, too, that the child was Turk's and not Danny's. A baby would give her one sweet part of Turk to treasure during her hellish marriage, and Danny wouldn't know.
But she did want, so desperately, to tell Turk. He was her life, but he didn't want her. He'd said so. He'd let her go—without a single attempt to stop her, to ask her to stay. He didn't want her, and she was just going to have to accept that. Her life was here now, in a world she'd never known existed until she came to Chicago.
The mobsters fascinated her. They didn't have two heads or carry guns in their teeth at all. They were ordinary men, nothing spectacular. They just made their living outside the law, and seemed to think nothing of talking about the way they did it. Katy had heard some hair-raising stories of gang killings and extortion. Danny had friends who had actually murdered people. Katy took it all in with fearful awe, even as she wondered what her poor mother and Lacy would think if they could see her now. Thank God Cole couldn't, she affirmed silently, or he'd have been on the next train with a gun packed in his valise. His only communication with her since her marriage had been a terse letter of congratulation. She knew he disapproved of Danny. He didn't know about what had happened between Turk and herself, and she could at least spare him the destruction of his friendship with Turk. It didn't matter, when she and Turk would probably never even see each other again as long as they lived. If only it wasn't so difficult living with Danny. Just lately, his behavior had begun to change. He was frequently wild and violent, and Katy was becoming very afraid of him. He'd already hit her once...
"You're very solemn, Mrs. Marlone," Blake Wardell said quietly, smoke wafting from a big cigar in his left hand. There was a ruby ring on his little finger, but he wore no other jewelry.
Katy looked at him with subdued interest. He had thick eyebrows and a big, imposing nose. Under it was a wide, hard-lipped mouth and a square jaw. Chiseled granite would have been a perfect description of the contours of his broad face. But his deep-set eyes were its saving grace. They were dark and alive, eyes that could say more than words. He smiled at her and they warmed, like dark flames.
"Katy doesn't say much these days," Danny said sarcastically. "She doesn't do much, either. She's kind of like a figurehead. She decorates the place."
"Danny, please," Katy said, wincing.
"She certainly is decorative," Blake replied, with gallantry. "How can you risk showing her off to other men?" he asked Danny.
The question stopped Danny's cold glare short. He eyed Blake with sudden interest.
Danny wanted a cut of Wardell's operation and he didn't have enough capital to buy it. But Wardell certainly seemed fascinated by Katy. His expression told Danny that he found Katy not only attractive, but desirable. Well, well. Danny knew what a cold little fish she was, but Wardell didn't. This unexpected development might work to his advantage.
"Why don't you dance with Blake, Katy?" Danny suggested. "She's a good dancer," he told the older man.
The music playing was a Charleston, and Katy hesitated. Rebellion was one thing, but she felt suddenly conspicuous. "I don't know if I should..." Katy began.
Danny's whole expression became threatening, and Katy noticed it with subdued fear. "Don't be such a goose," Danny muttered. "Go on, Katy. Dance with the nice man."
That was a threat. She didn't protest again.
Wardell laughed softly, thinking she was embarrassed at being asked to do the dance in public. The Charleston was actually considered quite decadent by a certain segment of the population who thought it signaled the rot of society. The same people had tried to ban jazz as a detriment to morality.
"If you don't like the music, Mrs. Marlone, I can fix that," Wardell said. He signaled to the waiter, handed him a bill, whispered something to him, and nodded toward the band. The waiter grinned, nodded, and went to speak to the bandleader. Seconds later, the wild music faded, to be replaced by a slow, sweet melody that Katy recognized instantly.
"Better?"Wardell teased, standing.
Katy blushed, because the band was playing "A Pretty Girl is Like a Melody," a song that became popular the year after the war ended.
"You are pretty," he said when she was loosely held in his arms, moving briskly in a fox-trot to the sweet tune. "Doesn't your husband tell you?"
Katy made a gesture with one shoulder. "Not really."
"What a pity." His eyes went over her hair in its loose bun at the nape of her neck, down the length of her dress that reached just below her knees and was held up by diamante straps. The sparkle of the rhinestones did something exquisite to her milky smooth skin, and he wondered how she'd look naked in a diamond necklace. The thought aroused him and he laughed, deep in his throat.
She looked up, confused by the laughter. "Why are you laughing?" "I don't know you well enough to tell you," he said. "But that will change."
Katy cleared her throat. The scent of him was very masculine, spicy, and clean. Danny didn't bathe often and always seemed to smell of sweat. Katy actually found him repulsive. She would probably have found him really repulsive if he wanted sex.
But Blake Wardell smelled nice, as Turk always had, and his cologne was familiar. Probably it was the same that Turk used, and that might explain her mixed feelings about this big, dark man. He seemed to find her attractive, and in turn, he actually attracted her. That was disturbing. Suppose she was one of those women she read about who enjoyed a variety of men? She felt horrified. She hadn't been raised to be a loose woman, but
she was intensely drawn to Blake Wardell. She was, too, almost certainly pregnant...
"What's wrong?" he asked, his big hand closing gently around her cold fingers.
She looked up; her face was as open as a book.
He smiled very gently. "It's all right," he said softly. "I feel it, too."
"I'm.. .married," she stammered. "That doesn't matter."
"But...!"
He bent, his mouth whispering against hers so briefly that she could hardly believe it had happened. "I said it doesn't matter. Come here." He drew her close, and she shivered at the feel of his body so intimately against her own. Turk, she thought, her eyes closing as she remembered the day she'd left Spanish Flats. Oh,Turk! she moaned silently, actually feeling as if she'd betrayed him— when it was Danny she should have felt guilty about betraying.
Danny watched Katy dance with Wardell with no feeling of jealousy or anger. He smiled. Good. Good. Wardell wanted her. Plans were forming in his mind like clouds. Katy might become the wedge he used to get in on Wardell's action. At least, he thought, she'd finally do him some good. God knew, it was like taking a statue to bed. She hated sex. He supposed most women of her sort were like that. He preferred experienced women who knew what to do. His eyes cut around to a cute little blonde who was giving him the eye from the next table. He glanced at Katy and Wardell and thought, Why not? He gestured toward the blond, left a tip on the table, had a waiter tell Katy he'd had to leave, and walked out with the blonde on his arm.
IT WAS THE BEGINNING of a new chapter in Katy's life. From that night on, Blake Wardell seemed always to be around when she and Danny went out on the town. She welcomed his company, because Danny didn't mistreat her then. But Blake was potent, and his presence was having a violent effect on her emotions.
It all came to a head when Danny ran her out of their bedroom with his verbal abuse during one of his tantrums. Mama Marlone wasn't home to witness it, having gone to visit a relative that night. Danny caught up with her and hit her. She fell down the stairs, and Danny actually left her lying there and went out.
